Saving Delia
by LadyPhenix
Summary: It's WW2 and Gilbert finds Delia in an abandoned mansion that the German army will be taking over. For an unknown reason, Gilbert takes Delia to the home he now shares with his brother. The action could put him and his brother in danger, but he does it regardless. Soon, Gilbert and Delia find themselves falling in love. GilbertXOC Rated M for later chapters
1. The Find

I had originally uploaded this story on Luna, however, I really wanted to do an OC for this story. So, here it is, the OC version. I'm going to try to keep this as historically accurate as possible.

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The first Delia sees of him are his boots: black and shiny, like wet river rocks. Then his legs, covered in a green uniform she has come to fear…come to hate. Delia jerks to her feet and half slams back against the wall. Her heart nearly beats out of her chest and her breathing is erratic. She does not risk looking at his face. She shakes all over, trying to control the sobs that are threatening to come out of her agape mouth. She's going to die. That's it, this is the end of it: she's going to die. Just a few moments ago she was looking for more food. Then, he found her and asked her what she was doing here, his hand on the butt of his gun. Fear takes seed in her belly, churning the acid, threatening to spill it all.

"What is your name?" his voice is smooth and a medium pitch. When she doesn't answer he comes in closer and asks again, "What is your name?"

"D-Delia…My name is Delia Ozera," she shakes inside the dress that is too big for her as she answers him. Her body looks like that of an eight year old rather than the sixteen year old she is. Is she still sixteen? The thoughts raced inside her mind. Why couldn't she remember her age? It's so hard to remember when she hasn't celebrated a birthday since this war.

"Delia…Are you hiding here Delia?" He tilts his head at her. Slowly, he looks around at the broken out windows and the falling down walls and ceiling.

Delia nods and finally gets the courage to look up at him. His eyes startle her. She has never seen eyes that color. They're like pomegranate red and his hair looks like silver. Her mother would have warned you about a boy like him. She would have warned you just from seeing the uniform.

"Show me," he commands Delia in a military tone that has her jumping out of her skin. He was in charge, it was clear to see that. She doesn't have to look at the decorations on his uniform to know that he is high in the chain of command.

Slowly, she shows him the attic where she's staying. A pile of cardboard is in the corner where she sleeps. An oil lap sits to the far left of it. The lamp ran out of oil two weeks ago, taking with it heat and light. She hasn't been able to find any more oil. Delia hasn't been able to find anything. The last of her food went four days ago. Not that there was much of it. Delia tried to catch the rats, but they proved to be quicker than her. Her reflexes are wasting away with the rest of her.

"How long have you been here?" he nudges her bed with his foot and continues to look around the partially destroyed room. Little flakes of snow drop through the broken ceiling. Delia won't survive here much longer. He knows that, he also knows she won't survive much longer regardless of the weather; the military is taking over this house to use as a base.

Delia pauses before she answers, "I don't know," she has trouble finding what little voice she has left. "A month? Maybe two…What month is it?" She honestly can't remember. Was it November? There was snow on the ground, but then it could be March even. It's so easy to lose track of time when one is concerned with one's survival. When one's next meal is going to be. If one's next breath will be their last, if one will freeze to death during the night. Delia has been so cold lately.

He looks at her with what might be sadness. "Do you have any food?" he asks surveying her body. It's painfully clear that she doesn't and hasn't for sometime.

Delia shakes her head and the man crooks his finger for her to follow him. She follows behind him slowly, careful not to let her bare feet step on glass. Street urchins stole her shoes a month ago. Delia is lucky they didn't kill her and eat her for food. Delia lets out a hiss of pain when a piece of glass lodges itself in the ball of her foot. The man turns around and looks at her and the blood coming from her feet.

"You have no shoes either?" When she shakes her head, he walks over to her and picks her up. Delia can tell he's trying not to wrinkle his nose at her smell. She doesn't know how long it's been since she's had a shower. "Don't move, don't make a sound. I can get in a world of trouble for this. Act dead," not that that would be hard, he thinks to himself. She's skin and bones. The breasts Delia was once so proud of are flat and sunken to match her ribs. Delia's mother once told her, she had child baring hips, those too are now gone. She's a fraction of the girl she was before the war started.

She closes her eyes and lets her head drop back. The cold stings against her flesh and she tries to hide her shudders. With difficulty she focuses on something else. He smells nice, Delia only notices because it's been so long since she's smelled anything clean, since she's smelled anything nice. His arms feel muscular beneath her.

"Beilschmidt! What the hell is that fucking smell coming from you? What….Is that a girl?" a voice unknown to her shouts out to him.

"Ja, I'm going to bury her so the Allies don't find her when they invade. One less body to pin on us, ja? Also, I don't think you boys want a dead body stinking up the place. " He sets her gently down in the back of something.

"Why don't you let me do that sir? You shouldn't have to bother yourself," a squeaky voice shouts out. Delia imagines a young boy with brown hair trying to impress the higher ups.

"No, that's okay. I know a place where she won't be found. Besides, I thought I told you to start digging that trench?" There's a quiet 'yes sir' and some laughing.

Delia hears a door shut and an engine roar to life. _iWhen the Allies invade? Are they gaining ground?/i_ The last Delia heard Germany had invaded France and was trying to gain more ground in Russia. Slowly she opens her eyes and looks about. Berlin looks dead, there's no life on the street; it's grey and white, no color. She remembers Berlin looking happy and alive, pulsing with life like a heart. People rushed in and out like blood keeping the city alive. Now, it's lost its blood and lays dormant like a corpse in a cold and lonely grave, waiting to be reincarnated.


	2. Coming Home

When the truck stops she can't hold her head up. Delia is so tired she could sleep for years. Something thin lies over the top of her. Her exhausted and sunken eyes slowly open when Beilschmidt picks her up again. His pomegranate eyes sadden when they look at her. He can see Delia's ribs through her worn and faded dress. Delia's mother gave it to her for Delia's sixteenth birthday. It used to be tight on her, and now it is far too big for her small and shrunken frame. Delia's cheekbones protrude almost violently from her face. Beilschmidt cradles her to his chest gently and begins walking. A door opens and warmth wraps around her like a mother's arms. It feels nice against her chilled skin. Delia can hear chirping and looks up to find a fat yellow bird sitting on top of the man's head. Delia blinks a few times but the bird does not go away.

"Bird this is Delia. Delia, I'm going to put you in the bath while I try and find you something to wear."

He walks through the kitchen with her and grabs an orange. An orange! Delia has not seen an orange in God knows how long. _How did he even get them?!_ He sets the orange on her stomach and turns around and walks out the way he came.

"….You mean you aren't going to kill me?" she asks quietly. After all, that is what men in these uniforms did. Even the Russians treat the Jews, or prisoners of war badly. Delia is not sure how they would respond to a gypsy, nor does she care to find out. She has heard stories about how Russians treat German prisoners of war: they are not pleasant.

"No, I am not going to kill you. I just saved you from a building we were invading and you think I'm going to kill you," he seems almost offended, "Eat the orange. It will help."

"I think it's logical to assume you're going to kill me when you're German and in the military. From your uniform you look rather high up."

Delia pick the orange up and slowly take a bite from it. The rind is tough to bite through and its juice spills down her chin and over her chest. It has been ages since Delia has had an orange.

"I'm not German, I'm Prussian. Not all of us believe in this war. And why are you eating the rind?"

Prussian? Delia has never heard anyone claim to be Prussian before. When Hitler took over government it was 'I'm German'. Of course when Hitler took over government it was a lot of things. Delia's family managed to send her younger sister and brother out of the country before war broke out. Her father had amazing instincts. He could tell you how much it was going to snow before there was a cloud in the sky. If only he could have foreseen the boat his two youngest were on blowing up.

"Because I'm hungry…What's your name?"

Delia takes another bite of the orange, her stomach starting to hurt a the foreign substance reaching it's bottom.

"You may call me awesome," he looks down at her face and smiles, "Gilbert is fine, if you must." He takes the stairs nearly two at a time. "You can sleep in my room tonight until I can get the guest room ready. I should warn you about my brother. He's not himself. What ever he says or does, he doesn't mean it. Hitler has changed him." Gilbert looks forward as he opens the door and kicks it shut.

"Hitler has changed everyone…"

The bathroom is black and white, the walls, the tile even the fixtures. There is a shaving razor sideways on the black sink, with bits of silver hair on it. A black toothbrush rests in a silver cup on the side of the sink, opposite of the razor. The faint smell of his shaving cream still lingers in the air. A set of pajamas is tossed haphazardly into a corner with a red towel, the only objects of color in the room. A white claw-foot bathtub sits in the center of the room and there is a shower in the left corner of the room.

Gilbert sits her down gently on a chair and runs water in the bath tub. "Can you undress yourself?" he asks Delia without looking over his shoulder. Steam rises from the bathtub and warms the room even further.

"I can try," Delia answers as she finishes the last bite of orange and wraps her arms tightly around her stomach. Delia refuses to throw up. She is going to keep that bit of food in her stomach. After a few seconds, Delia slowly and shakily tries to unbutton her dress. Her fingers are stiff and ache with the movement. She winces and closes her eyes. She feels so weak.

Gilbert turns around and watches her for a moment. "Here, let me," he whispers as he goes over to her. He brushes Delia's fingers aside before undoing the buttons quickly and with skilled fingers. They feel like feathers against her skin when he slips the shirt off her arms. "Stand for me." Delia stands up slowly and avoids his stare as he slips off her underwear and dress. Gilbert tosses them into the corner with his pajamas. "I'll find you something to wear until I can go and get you clothes. Go ahead and get in the tub and wash off. I'll be back in shortly," he says as he walks out of the room.

Bird sits on the edge of the bathtub and looks at Delia. Slowly, she sinks down into the tub. The warm water slides over her skin and she sighs. It has been ages since she has been in a bathtub. Delia tries to ignore the sting it leaves on the bottom of her foot. She imagines she still has glass in it. Ever so carefully and gradually, she eases herself under the water. Nothing will ever feel this good.

While he's out of the room, she ponders to herself what exactly his intentions are. He is German and, in the military no less, and yet, here he is helping her. Why would he save her? He could have easily shot Delia before she realized he was there. Is she his redemption? Is he doing this to make himself feel better? Why Delia out of the literal millions out there? What makes her any better than them? What makes her so worthy of this second chance?

The sound of footsteps reverberating off the tile makes her sit straight up. She instantly regrets the decision when her head starts to spin and the room goes black.

"Woah." Gilbert stops Delia from falling with ease. "No, no. Let's not do that, shall we? Try not to move so fast." When her head stops swirling, he continues, "You'll have to use my shampoo and conditioner and soap. Just until we can find you some. I'll leave those here and you can clean up."

You look down at the brown water with shame.

"What is it?"

"I don't know if I can… My fingers…They're stiff and they ache."

"Okay. If you'll allow it, I can help you with that."

She nods slowly and Gilbert moves away from her. Delia watches him as he takes off his jacket and rolls up his shirtsleeves to his pale elbows. He pulls a wooden stool up to the side of the tub and sets a cup down beside it. Slowly, he starts to wash her hair. She feels like a child in his care. She and a child are both unable to take care of themselves. His fingers gently massage her scalp with the shampoo. It smells like spices and fall. Delia exhales a shaky breath, draws her knees up to her concave chest, and wraps her arms around them.

Gilbert frowns at the dirt in her dull and lifeless black hair. He shudders at how easily it falls out of her head if he pulls just slightly. It breaks and tears in his hands as easily as tissue. It's the emaciation; her body hasn't had enough food to sustain its self. Gilbert reaches down and pulls the plug to drain the brownish water. He turns the faucet on again: taking care to make sure the water won't scald her. Grabbing a cup from beside the tub, Gilbert fills it with water and rinses Delia's hair. He shampoos it four times before the water runs clear from your scalp. He watches Delia lay her head on her thin arms as he starts to wash her. He can feel Delia's bones through the washcloth. Her clothes hid the worst of her to him. Delia's vertebras stick out from her back. He could probably play chopsticks on them. He clenches his jaw to hold back a groan of sympathy, the grunt of anger, and the whimper of shame. It's true, he's seen worse, but for some reason, the sight of Delia hits him harder. His stomach churns and he struggles to hold back the bile.

He knows she can feel him tense beside her. He wishes he hadn't tensed, but he did. That's done now. Gilbert gently picks Delia up out of the tub when he's done washing her. For a moment, it looks as if she's dead in his arms. He breathes a sigh of relief when she takes a breath. Softly he sets her down on the toilet lid and begins to dry her off. Delia's eyes remain closed to him through the process. He can't tell if he's hurting her, or if it feels nice. He hopes it's the latter.

"I couldn't find you any clothes downstairs. I was hoping the maid would have left some of hers here. You can wear one of my shirts and a pair of my boxers. I'll try to go into town and by some clothes for you. And shoes."

Delia nods slowly and shudders when she feels the towel leave her. He slips the boxers as far up her legs as he can get them. Putting her hand on his shoulder, she stands up so he can get them the rest of the way up. He murmurs his thanks to her and puts his shirt on her.

"Shit. You're bleeding," Gilbert says as he looks down at the blood on the floor. Her feet, she must still have glass in them, he thinks to himself. Gently he scoops Delia back up and walks in to his bedroom. How could she not have noticed that? He decides she's probably in so much pain as it is, that she doesn't notice the new pain in her feet. Gilbert lays Delia on his bed and retreats back into the bathroom for a first aid kit.

Delia jumps when she feels him grab a hold of her foot. It's not the pain that makes her jump: it's more how quiet he is. She didn't notice him until he was touching her. Delia nods her understanding when he tells her that it might hurt. What's one more pain? She stares up at the ceiling as he digs the glass out of her foot. Delia can feel the pieces sliding out of her flesh. It's a rather unpleasant feeling. She would rather take the constant gnaw of hunger over this. Bird curls up on her chest and watches her. Delia tries to give him a weak smile and Bird chirps.

"There. You're all done. If you're hungry," Gilbert stops short when he sees Delia's sleeping form. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he moves Delia beneath his covers. He looks at his fat yellow bird and whispers, "You look after her." _Someone has too._


	3. The Morning

Gilbert wakes early, having not rested at all really, sleeping on the couch. Of course he was not about to share a bed with a girl who, when she comes to her senses, will be petrified of him. He doesn't bother to stifle the enormous yawn coming out of him. He reaches up and scratches at the tufts of hair sticking up at odd angles. Slowly, he pulls his old body up from the offending couch and straightens his pants.

"Too drunk to make it up the stairs, bruder?" a voice asks from the neighboring kitchen, breaking his thoughts. Ludwig looks up as he asks the question, his crisp uniform rustling with the movement.

"Uh, yeah. We'll go with that. You were out late." _Why didn't I just tell him there's a strange girl staying with us?_

"I had a few things to take care of. You left your job early. If you want to gain favor that is not the way to do it Gilbert."

Gilbert stills his hands from clenching. Why would he want to gain favor with Hitler? He wants to distance himself from him as much as possible, while still keeping an eye on his brother. Gilbert's feet pad his toned and lithe body over to the coffee pot on the stove. He leans over it and smells, grimacing at the weak smelling coffee: if a person can even call it coffee. It's more like nine times watered down leftover coffee. Gilbert instead settles for water.

"I don't know how you can drink that shit Ludwig," Gilbert muttered, avoiding an argument, as he took a seat across from his brother. "So, what would you say if I said I brought a girl to live with us?"

Ludwig slowly looks up from his reports and meets his brother's eyes. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I brought a girl to live with us."

"Bruder, please tell me that you did not bring home a prostitute again."

"I did not bring home a prostitute, Ludwig. She's just a girl…I found her, I brought her here. She could be of use to us. Who knows, maybe she can make something out of the shit you call food. She could clean, look after your dogs," Gilbert's explanation is cut short by his brother.

"You brought a homeless girl into our home? Gilbert, what are our bosses going to think-" It was now Ludwig's turn to be cut short by his older brother.

"_Your _bosses, Ludwig, not mine. Never mine. Those men are voracious for death and power. I will have nothing to do with them," Gilbert snapped at his older brother.

"Whether you like it or not Prussia, they _are_ your bosses. They are mine. And you _will_ listen to them. That girl will be out of my house-"

"That girl will remain in _my_ house as long as I am here! You forget, bruder, this is my home. This is _my_ city. And although your bosses may have decided I am no longer a country, does not make that true. She will stay here as long as I will have her. And you will do nothing to make her leave."

Ludwig is left speechless as Gilbert storms out of the kitchen and up the stairs of his home. Gilbert doesn't want to give his brother the chance to reiterate previous arguments and lectures. Gilbert also does not want to run the risk of Delia waking up to their fight. Slowly, he opens his bedroom door to check in on the cause of the fight.

Delia lays on the floor, nothing covering her, and nothing under her. Gilbert tilts his head at her, bewilderment etched on his face. Bird rests on top of her head, curled in a little ball. Slowly and quietly, Gilbert traipses across the floor to Delia's still form. For a brief moment, he's worried she has died during the night, but upon closer inspection, he sees the telltale sign of her chest rising and falling. Gently, he picks her up in his arms and nimbly carries her to his bed again. Bird stirs slightly and gazes up at his owner, sleep weighing his eyelids back down. Gilbert gives a delicate smile as he lays them both back on the bed and covers them up. Delia gives a quiet mewl and curls up tighter. Gilbert steps back quietly to his closet and pulls out his clothes for the day.

"This is the girl you brought home?"

Gilbert grabs for the gun in his nightstand before he realizes it's only his brother behind him. He spins around on his heel and glares at the taller figure in the doorway. "You're going to wake her up!" Gilbert snarls quietly.

Dinah jerks up at the sound of talking. She looks wildly about the room before her eyes settle on Ludwig in his crisp S.S uniform. Fear roots in her stomach at the sight on him. She scrambles backwards on the bed to get away from him. Her back hits the headboard with a load smack. Ludwig looks down and over at the girl cowering from him. Dinah's heart pounds loudly in her chest and she's certain she's having a heart attack. Gilbert holds his hands up to her, showing her that he means to cause her no harm.

"Delia. Delia, this is my brother Ludwig. He's not going to hurt you." Gilbert holds up a hand to silence his brother before he continues, "Do you remember me? I brought you here yesterday."

Delia only nods, afraid to speak. She didn't know that Gilbert's brother would be so high up in his ranks. Bird nuzzles under her chin, trying to comfort her. Gilbert whips his head around and glares at Ludwig, who starts to say something. He motions for him to leave the room and Delia watches as he goes. Delia doesn't breath again until Ludwig leaves the room and shuts the door. Gilbert slowly sits down in front of the cowering girl.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to be woken," Gilbert says apologetically.

"I'm not really a heavy sleeper," Delia explains after taking a moment to find her voice.

Gilbert nods, understanding why she couldn't allow herself to sleep heavily. "You should sleep some more." Upon seeing her hesitation, Gilbert offers a solution, "The door locks…I can lock it while I take a shower and while you sleep some more. He doesn't have a key. Not that I think he would come back. He's probably off on his way to work."

Delia looks at the door hesitantly. Gilbert notices how she won't look him directly in the eyes. He stands up and recognizes her jump and the slight tensing of her muscles. He locks the door with a click and looks back at her. She seems slightly more relaxed than she was.

"Get some sleep, I'm going to take a shower and then we can get some lunch, okay?"


End file.
